Merciful
by AAluminium
Summary: In all honesty, Brewster's grin vexes me to the quick. It reminds me of Setauket, of the ignominy I had to go through there, of the failures, of this goddamn farmer – and, oddly enough, of Anna Strong. I still cannot fathom what ruled her, nor can I pry into her ulterior motives.


Arnold is obviously at an impasse. Totally at bay, and isn't in the know what to do next – I can hear his voice, see his countenance, and this is an epitome of helplessness. He tries to assuage, but Brewster has an outstanding talent of making a nuisance of himself, while Arnold latches onto the idea of maintaining a meaningful talk. A lost cause. I would see to it if I were asked, but…

Laugh while you can, Brewster. You've taunted your fine general enough. Albeit I feel no sympathy for a turncoat, nor do I express any pity for his miserable self, I can easily imagine how abashed and abased he must be now. This is an abuse beyond any normal mind, and avenging would be the only possible way out, but he doesn't seem to be aware of the approaches I call most productive. Naturally, a torment improves one's memory and cures temporary amnesia all prisoners normally experience. You just have to use the method correctly.

In all honesty, Brewster's grin vexes me to the quick. It reminds me of Setauket, of the ignominy I had to go through there, of the failures, of this goddamn farmer – and, oddly enough, of Anna Strong. I still cannot fathom what ruled her, nor can I pry into her ulterior motives. She did say she'd never fall in love with me, and I do remember abhorrence written upon her pale face. Here I wonder – who could be the man she'd lose her heart to? I do not believe in rumors – the gossip straying from house to house is either too eloquent to be true, or extremely lackadaisical and maudlin to be real. I had to sift them scrupulously to learn the necessary bits – living in Setauket is similar to getting to a looney-bin, where people are no longer reliable. You cannot distinguish fact from fiction, you cannot tell the truth from a lie – and, in a way, this is their forte. They are safe until they cease wagging their tongue so zealously and fervently: the people of Setauket manage to add a plethora of features to a strategy that never existed in the first place.

And the best of the inhabitants aren't innocent either. Not even Anna Strong.

Trying to win the scraps of attention I am sure I deserve, I spotted things people failed to realize. She was in the thick of it. She _is_ in the thick of it. What "it" was – and is – I still cannot say certainly, but she definitely plays a significant part in the performance I am not allowed to see. She, by far, strove hard to deflect my attention. And succeeded. What a galvanic change it was, might I add! Coming across the miserable sight of a downtrodden woman, I did not expect a deity, blooming Venus, Aphrodite, the one deserving a poem to be written in her name.

A liar.

I vividly recollect her falling on her knees. I do remember her brown eyes, full of ultimate dread, panic and rueful feelings. It dawned upon me, and at the same time I couldn't quite grasp it – I had to relinquish the hold of my cold common sense, forget about rationale and observe the present evidence. Anna Strong was there for _him_. She was ready to beg, to plead, to kowtow and to grovel – for him. For Abraham Woodhull, the farmer loitering about the town poking his long nose into the affairs that are none of his concern and flap his ears taking everything in! I was furious – and I gloated. I felt a sensation of dark triumph. I was defeated by a woman – but I gained my personal victory soon after. She had to give me the kiss. Sour; not like the ones she must've gifted that farmer with – but that's what makes it unique. I wielded power over her. I could've asked for anything. I could've done anything to her. And no one would judge me. No one. Whole Setauket was mine.

And especially, Anna Strong.

"He's yours," Arnold raps out, "Do what's necessary, Captain."

"Oh I will," I jump up to my feet. "Don't worry, general. We'll find the common language fast enough. We're old friends after all."

The door closes.

"Hello, Brewster. Hope you're in the mood to talk – because there's a long day ahead of us."

I'm done with being merciful.

I'm done with this godforsaken town – and I am going to smash it.


End file.
